Trudy Agyeman - Naturally Fine: How To Survive Your First Year With Natural Hair

By Trudy Agyeman

Published By Trudy Agyeman at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Trudy Agyeman

All rights reserved. www.naturallyfine.com

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoymentonly. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.If you would like to share this book with another person, pleasepurchase an additional copy for each recipient. If youre readingthis book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for youruse only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase yourown copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of thisauthor.

Table ofContents

To Atlas Tully, thank you for your love andencouragement.

To Nova and Libby Tully, thank you for reminding meeach day to be myself.

To My Father, thank you for your last words. I willnever let you down.

Wouldnt it be wonderful to be caught in arain shower, with no worry or panic, just calmly walking, soakingit all in without a care? Or imagine your lover sensually caressingyour coils, with no tracks underneath and no thoughts of despair?Thousands of beautiful, black women are already there, embracingthe essence of their natural hair.

Why do we need natural hair love now?

I have two young daughters ages five andseven. By the age of three they discovered that there was somethingnot quite right about their hair and the questions soon startedthereafter. How come my hair doesnt grow? Why is my hair colorblack? I want pigtails, long pigtails, pigtails with squigglycurls, do you know what I mean mommy? Sadly I did. When my eldestdaughter came home from school one day and said Mommy, I want tobe white my stomach clenched with painful knots of sorrow. I juststared at her in silence. I tried my motherly best to reassure herthat there was nothing wrong with her hair, her eyes or her skincolor. She gave me the usual thanks mom, I feel better glancesbut deep down I knew I simply wasnt getting through to her.

Brainwashed

Why was I failing to get the message across?At our tender ages we have been bombarded with imagery andperceptions of what is beautiful. Rapunzel-like dolls decorate therooms of our impressionable daughters. At the age of twelve my hairwas relaxed simply out of convenience. My mother no longer had tospend hours cramping her fingers braiding my hair on school nights.Relaxing gave me the opportunity to manage my own hair and I wasgrateful for this newfound freedom. I panic at the thought of whatmy daughters decision will be when they have the freedom to styletheir own hair.

My reason to write this book is not to preachabout the dangers of chemical relaxers. Im sure you are aware thatthe nauseating smell and crusty burns left on your scalp is a signthat this stuff cant be any good. Throughout my natural hairjourney I found that the quest is not just about hair, but is aboutself-esteem, confidence, empowerment and spiritual strength.Without these foundations you will never embrace the natural hairlifestyle. I want you to get re-acquainted and fall in love withyour natural hair, to love your texture and discover thepossibilities.

Its very easy to get discouraged as youembark on this journey. We need to feel the emotional hurts inorder to heal after being told from childhood that we have badhair.

In this book you will find tips, techniquesand styles to help you successfully transition from perms, weavesand wigs to a Naturally Fine mane. However, my goal is to fill youup with the empowerment, courage and the strength to STAYnatural.

So lets get started

July 2005 A summer heat wave was in fulleffect. Isolated away in my tiny apartment bathroom I began mybi-monthly ritual to relax my new growth. It was a celebratoryritual in a sense because new growth meant longer hair and mydestiny for long flowing locks was nearing. My relaxed hair hadgrown past my neck and had reached mid back a milestone!

I laid down the essentials: Relaxer kit check, plastic container check, wide-toothed comb check,applicator brush check, latex gloves check, towel check. Oh!Cant forget the Vaseline Check! Check! Doing my own relaxerallowed me to save oodles of money and I had managed to get thesame salon results at homethus far.

I stripped down to make the ritual a bit moretolerable. I separated my hair into four sections and began.Halfway through I anticipated, even with flawless application myritual friend Burn-iece would appear. Burn-ieces fiery tinglemeant that she was in top form, working her magic. Hang in theregirl! Just a few more strokes of my magic and youre good. Shessuch a good lye-ar. I made it halfway to the crown of my head, thekinkiest part of my hair and had to stop. Staring at myself in themirror watching the sweat pour down the sides of my face and downmy back, I imagined my scalp bubbling and sizzling like a fried eggand my sweat turning into blood. I had been through this burncountless times before. What gives? Whether I was at a fancyoverpriced salon or at home in my tiny weeny bathroom; Burn-iecewas always there. However, on this hot July day I just couldntstand her anymore. Remembering the scene from Malcolm X when Denzeldunked his head in the toilet I quickly jumped into the shower forsome relief. The frigid pellets forced the relaxer from my hair andsliced micro-sized cuts into my wounded scalp. With the relaxerrinsed out I stared back at my half stringy, half frizzy mess andglared at the word mild on the relaxer box.

Regretful Rituals

For 25 years Ive gone from Jeri curls toweaves, from black to blonde, from breakage to growth and backagain, you name it Ive done it.

I was introduced to a relaxer when my bestfriend and I went on a trip to the salon. My eyes and nose stungwith the pungent chemical stench that wafted throughout the salon.The stylist examined my hair through his fingertips, tilting myhead this way and that, like I was an artifact or something. Isensed his fear through the weakness in his fingers as he gentlyasked if I was tender headed. Tender-headed? I sure as hell was nowimp or a softy! I soon found out that he was not asking about mypersonality. Squirming and writhing in pain I did my best to remaincalm like the rest of the grown folk sitting in their torturechairs. Just hold on, only a little bit longer, this stuff needsto sit before it works, he said. I whimpered and cried, Thisstuff SUCKS!!! I stared back at myself in the mirror with tearswelling up in my eyes and trusted that all this pain would be worthit.

And man was it worth it! I spent the next dayswinging my new silky glory back and forth ignoring the nasty pusfilled scabs that had formed all over my scalp. No more towels,skirts and T-shirts on my head pretending to be a Hollywoodstarlet. Over the years I developed a kinship with those scabs. Isecretly enjoyed picking at them and combing them out with afine-tooth comb (before you say ewwwwwI know some of you have hada love affair with those scabs too!). To me those scabs meant a jobwell done; I had achieved bone-straight status.

From that moment on my hair transformed me.It was the start of numerous rituals and rites of passage, eachstyle bringing me closer to acceptance and validation.

My mother bought pink plastic foam rollersand I fell in love with the cascading curls that they created.Finally I could train my hair to cascade down the nape of my neckinstead of sticking straight out whenever I moved my head up anddown. My transforming moment came when I was on the transit buswith a few friends and a white woman sitting behind me reached outand touched my hair. I was in shock and prayed that my hair wasnttoo greasy with Blue Magic* that day. You have beautiful hair,its so soft and curly. she said. Wow! A white woman saying thatmy hair was beautiful! It proved to me that the miracle cream wasworth the burn, sweat and tears.